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Christine Baranski (Tanya), Meryl Streep (Donna) and Julie Walters (Rosie) in Mamma Mia! |
Thanks for music, but film’s less than Ab fab
MAMMA MIA
Directed by Phyllida Lloyd
Certificate 12a
THE songs of Abba that changed the pop landscape of the 1970s continue provide suitable huddle and cuddle moments for alcohol-fuelled hen nights.
Mamma Mia, a stage show featuring the Swedish glam disco act’s songs, has further tapped into a thirst for all things Abba and it’s no surprise that it has eventually been made into a film.
Meryl Streep is Donna, the hippie mum running an amazing hotel on an amazing island. Her 20-year-old daughter is going to get married. But before she ties the knot, she wants to discover, once and for all, who her real dad is (he hasn’t been seen since the night of conception). She finds Mum’s diary and narrows the culprits down to three possibilities – who she then secretly invites to the wedding and sits back to discover the real daddio.
The idea of Baby Boomers tortured by their youthful rebelliousness is a crucial factor of the story. Streep’s character, a strong, independent person, is portrayed as being full of regret for her frivolous nature. It’s as if conventional ideas – marriage and the traditional family – is accepted as the only way to happiness.
In one scene, Streep goes so far as to admit that someone up there is looking down here and laughing at her three-men predicament, and is probably her vengeful mother saying she told her so.
The confusing thing is she has done so well for herself. Her child appears to be wonderfully happy and well balanced, she has oodles of friends who think she is marvellous, and she runs her own business. Not bad going – so why all the angst? To say she is a failure because she isn’t married is sad and ugly. And, if they were so desperate to discover paternity, then why not do the mouth swab DNA test? If the lead really wanted to know, she’d have greeted her guests on the jetty with a cotton bud and plastic gloves.
Colin Firth, Pierce Brosnan and Stellan Skarsgard make up the trio. They do not work. Brosnan does his best with the song SOS, Firth can’t dance and Skarsgard manages to just about flit around in the background, grinning a lot.
This film is about the music and should send thousands off on their summer holidays humming Abba numbers.
But the songs are poorly cued up: Money Money Money is belted out by Donna after a joke about how the toilet in her hotel doesn’t flush properly, and, although Streep can sing, she’s poorly served by those around her.
To cap the all-round disaster, there are cringing set piece dance routines.
It should be Bollywoodised – big, loud and daring. Instead it’s slipshod, with childish step routines.
Greek extras act as if they were transported lock stock from an advert for an olive oil spread.
Working as drudges, they are all toothless and swarthy, as opposed to the Brit/American contingent who are bronzed and sleek.
The effect was such that I threw my hands up and said: “Mamma Mia, here we go again,” each time the music started. |
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